To Be Insubordinate
by Punzie the Platypus
Summary: AU. Modern-day. Tris and her friends go to a rock concert.


_**Soli Deo gloria**_

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Divergent. Okay, in light of my previous angst-ridden Divergent story, here's a complete and utter Dauntless-inspired AU. :)**

~ Tris's point of view ~

My father watches me with a disapproving look. I try to avoid his face as I pull on my leather jacket, my hands brushing against my short blonde hair as I fix the collar, keep my breathing low. He doesn't approve of this at all. Nothing of this situation suits him. And I can't help but relish in that.

Caleb is busy at college applications, taking up the entire dining room table. Mom is looking over his shoulder, trying to decipher all the wants they need of him. She looks up and says, "What time did he say he was coming, Beatrice?"

I check my watch, a black, bold digital one on my wrist. It sticks out so much in our plain, Spartan home, one that reigns with monotonous colors, those of grey and bland white. It reads 4:44.

"Four-forty-five," I say, looking up.

Mom nods, smiling a little. She is far more relaxed around the idea than my father is. He sighs and turns away to help Caleb, leaving me to sit on our stairs and stare at the door, waiting for him to show up.

I pick at my nails as I wait, anxiously glancing at the door at will. I can't stop myself. Every second is aching. Aching to be with my friends, to be away from my quiet family and house, whose eyes I can feel on the back of my neck, watching my every move. They still can't truly accept what has happened to me, how being sixteen has given me freedom. Freedom to not have to conform to the style of my family, but to experiment with my own life, with my own style. That would explain my friends, how I've gone from walking home with Robert and Susan, to being friends with a loud girl named Christina, her boyfriend Will, our quiet friend Al, and Tobias. Tobias Eaton.

His name is such a powerful name. It rings through me, echoing in my head, and a nail is torn. I bite my lip.

I met him when my friends decided to explore the local gym area. He was showing the boxing lessons, a summer job. He caught my eye and I joined with the rest. And each time I punched that bag, I could feel his eyes on me. He was a quiet person, but the slightest smile from him seemed like a well-won victory.

Weeks and meetings and restaurant hangouts later, here we are. Or rather, here I am, waiting quietly in my foyer for my friends to drive up and take me to a rock concert.

My watch beeps. 4:45.

I can hear the motorcycles, the strong vibrations of the engines leaking through into the house. The noise causes my parents' chatter to stop, Caleb's incessant writing to calm to nothing.

I gulp and stand up and go to the door.

Outside are several motorcycles. Several were pet projects, getting fixed up by the boys. They shine with hours of hard work, the wheels large and intimidating, the custom paint-jobs bright in the sun, scary and as bold as tattoos.

Christina pulls off her helmet and grins, her white teeth the only thing shining besides her black outfit, a black leather jacket over a band T-shirt and black jeans. Her boots have zippers, and her nose and earrings have piercings.

"Hey, Tris," she says, always cheerful.

The rest take their helmets off, looking altogether rather friendly in their standoff-ish clothes. Will, his shaggy hair back in a ponytail, nods politely towards me. Or, rather to the people behind me. My family. I get onto the porch and search their faces, not sure why. Am I scared of their reactions? I already know my parents don't like the crowd I am friends with. Robert and Susan had been a higher standard.

My father's face is outlined with angry lines. My mother has a bright smile on her face. That surprises me, to see the shining light of youth in her eyes. Like she wants to jump onto a motorcycle and join us. And Caleb. His face is confused. He has no idea why I would want to join this band of rebels when I could instead stay inside and study history and bury my nose in books as he does.

But why would I want to read about adventure when I could live adventure?

"Mom, Dad, Caleb, these are my friends," I say. I point out each one, (who each, in turn, wave), naming them, though they have met my parents before. "Will, Al, Christina, Tobias." He's the last in the line, the last to pull off his helmet and reveal his face. It's clean shaven, with a hooked nose and dark eyes. He has scalp of dark hair that is short and trimmed almost like my father's. He meets my parents' faces. I can hear my father's scoff. _Friend indeed,_ he might as well say.

"It's nice to meet you all," my mother says.

"I want her back by eleven," my dad says, his voice sharp, unyielding.

I touch his arm, smile a little. "I'll call when we get there."

Tobias tosses me a helmet. I catch it and tug it on as I hurry to his motorcycle. He turns on his machine, showing me where to sit. I sit down and he says, "You're supposed to wrap your arms around me. Keeps you from falling off."

"How convenient," I say, raising an eyebrow.

"There are no safety rails. I'm better than nothing," he says, his voice low so that only I can hear him. I can feel the smile in his voice, though, like his mood has brightened by seeing me.

I put down the viser on my helmet and wave at my parents. My father is unyielding, but my mom faintly waves. Caleb looks away and goes back into the house.

Christina fist pumps and the sounds of the engines roar into the air, making me quickly wrap my thin arms around Tobias's torso. I can feel strong muscles and a lean frame from hours and hours of kickboxing under my hands. I feel warm and relaxed around him, my muscling relaxing from the strain my family had on them. I can feel the animal power of the engine waking up, growling beneath our bodies. It sends thrills and vibrations through me. Tobias tightens his hold on the bars, making a vroom-vrrroommmmmmm echo through our neighborhood.

He leads us down the driveway, past my friends, the wheels crushing the white and blue pebbles of our driveway. I whoop as the bike picks up speed. I can feel the tension leak out of his body, practically feel the smile on his face as the speed picks up, and we're racing down the flat road, as smooth as silk.

And we pick up more speed, with a destination in sight:

A rock 'n' roll concert.

* * *

The atmosphere is pumped, alive with the air of youth and the beat of the drums, which are being played at in anticipation for the concert. I can see the band members as they get ready onstage, laughing and slapping each other on their backs. There's Uriah Pedrad with his brother Zeke, along with a couple of Zeke's friends. Uriah is a good friend of mine, and Zeke has been friends with Tobias for as long as they can remember. I still remember the time when Zeke jokingly asked Tobias, calling him Four, his nickname for him, if he wanted to join the band.

But Tobias is not an outrageous, live-out-loud sort of person. He's all too quiet, almost too much so for the life he lives. He runs with the bulls, with all these loud, rambunctious people, and me. I am also quiet; inherited the quality from a life of saying not much at all. I think that's why he gets me. Why he is able to carry a conversation with me and not feel pressured to shut off from me. We both have our secrets. Of course. But he lets me know more of his secrets than he has told anyone else. And that is why I believe that Tobias is not a statue, as many people have accused him to be. He's a sheltered dark angel.

We're sitting on the top of a car. It's freshly cleaned, reigning from the sixties. It's Zeke's, and as he is on stage, Tobias is keeping an eye on it. His motorcycle is parked with the others, and he and I are sprawled across the wide hood. I am tiny enough so that both our bodies can fit comfortably on it. He grins a little, when Christina screeches and drags me off the car. I get out of her reach and laugh, grabbing her arms to support myself. And it's something beautiful, to be able to laugh with my friends. At home I am an entirely different person. I am good, dutiful Beatrice. Here I am Tris, alive and selfish and brave.

Christina stops laughing and says, "Ow. You're gripping my new tattoo!"

I let go and ask, "What is it of?"

"My name, surrounded by hearts and arrows," Will says casually, laughing a little. His hands are in dark pants pockets, with chains hanging out of them.

Christina scoffs. "Yeah, you wish." She pulls back her leather jacket and flexes her lean, dark muscles. A black tattoo is tender under a white bandage. I see it, barely; it's a swarm of fleeing bugs. Moths, it looks like.

"You hate moths," I say, straightening.

Christina shrugs. "I know. This is a reminder that I can live with a fear of mine. That I don't have to let it control me. I can't totally get rid of it. . . I've . . . I've accepted it as a part of me." She shrugs again. Then grins. "Ever going to get a tattoo, Tris?"

"Over my parents' dead bodies," I say.

"Strict, huh?" Will says.

"Have you met her parents? They saw Tris and Tobias holding hands once and nearly had heart attacks," Christina says, rolling her eyes.

My parents are still not used to our relationship. I reach out and hold Tobias's hand in mine. He looks at the ground, his eyes concentrating on the dirt in front of us, but I know that all he can think of is our joined hands. It's something beautiful, our two hands joined together. Two hands have become two fitting pieces, to create a whole, complete puzzle.

He draws me up onto the hood of the car once more. I tuck my legs under me as I lean against his side. His leather jacket is open, and I can feel the heat of his body against mine. He smells like mint and sweat and wind and is beautiful. I look up; he's looking towards the stage, his eyes clear and concentrating. So dark, so blue. So beautiful.

He holds me tighter, making me lean my head against his shoulder. I can practically feel the ink etched into his body. He has so many tattoos on his back, he is covered in more art than naked canvas.

"When are they actually going to start playing the music?" Christina says, scowling. "I'm going to go poke Uriah unless he does something other than banging at his drums."

A car drives up, and out piles Marlene and Lynn, with her sister Shauna. Each have several piercings, with Lynn having her head shaved and Marlene with her hair colored so many different ways.

"They didn't start yet, did they?" Marlene asks anxiously. She looks for Uriah, catches his eye, and waves enthusiastically. She is his girlfriend. He stops drumming and waves at her.

"No, they were courteously waiting for us," Lynn says sarcastically. She cocks her head and says to me, "They haven't started yet, have they?"

"If they had, our ears would be bleeding from Uriah's lack of musical talent," Christina says.

"Uriah can play a mean set of drums," Lynn says.

"I think Christina means to say that it would be very loud if we knew," Will says.

Lynn rolls her eyes. "I derived _that _much."

I lean against Tobias's shoulder, breathing in his scent and watching the scene before me. This is the life I want to live. The one that is filled with friends and feelings, adrenaline and life. Sitting at home is not for me. But to be out in the open, to see the world before me, with Tobias by me, is what I love. I hope I can have it. But something this beautiful must be taken from me, for it is too good to be true.

"They almost ready?" Christina asks, leaning out to see that the crowds, which number thousands of young adults in punk rock clothes, are gathering closer to the stage. Zeke is at the microphone, laughing. Uriah is banging at his head with his sticks. Their friends are at the guitars. They appear ready, and Zeke says into the microphone, "Welcome to tonight's performance by The Dauntless. Can I hear some noise?" He sticks out his microphone, grinning the same smile as that of his brother as we all shout.

Tobias slides off the hood and offers me his hand. I slide off as well, and our gripped hands rise in the air. The air is filled with adrenaline, power, as we shout. Everyone is loud, pumping their fists, shouting, as the music pounds into the air. The air and the ground shakes as the singing starts, and the concert begins.

The concert is . . . it was amazing. It was strange; to an outsider, it would be. All these kids screaming into the void, feeling the music pump and breathe in their souls. I could barely understood the words, but I _felt _them live in me, absorbed into me, sinking through my skin. No tattoo or motorcycle ride or piercing would give me a thrill like this.

Christina and Will dance, laughing hysterically and doubling over again and again. Al is tentative to get into the music, but he pumps his fist all he can. Marlene and Lynn whoop and cheer on Uriah, who has the time of his life behind the drum set. And the sun sets as the concert continues, full of screaming and calling of names when a break from a song occurs.

I grow sweaty beneath my leather jacket, and I stow it in the car. My skin glistens with perspiration, my arms all bare. I'm wearing a tank and black pants, slimming. Not that I need to look skinnier. I am already a pale shrimp. But the way Tobias looks at me, his head turned from the music and his eyes gazing at me with a slight warmth that isn't always there, makes me feel wholly beautiful.

He catches my hands after a long time, and raises them so they're tall and strong and wavering in the air. He leans forward, smiling, a glint of warmth in the dark. I feel hot and tall and alive and he kisses me, and I go on my tiptoes, feeling every nerve awaken, my spine gaining chills. I let go of one of his hands and tug on his hair, burying my hand in it.

He brings his other hand down and wraps it around my waist. It's almost big enough to wrap around my entire waist. He kisses my cheek, his breath hot against my skin. Then he leans back and whispers, "Having a good time?"

My hand drifts down from his hair to trace patterns against his neck. "Yes," I say.

"That's good," he says. He looks to the concert and Christina frowning at us in amusement, and he doesn't say anything. He just holds my hand, almost content just to do that.

The end of the concert comes with a crashing of lightning and a splash of rain. It drizzles. My hair is pasted to my head, and I brush it away as I run to keep up with Tobias to the backstage of the concert. Christina is riding piggyback on Will, shrieking as the crowds drift away from us, parting like the Red Sea.

We find the band in the back. Uriah puts down his drum sticks and catches a running Marlene, picking her up and kissing so hard they look like they should tip over. Lynn rolls her eyes and talks to one of the other band members as Shauna, in her wheelchair that Al had pushed for her, comes to Zeke, beckoning him to bend so she can catch his neck and kiss him on the lips.

Uriah hangs his arm around Marlene's waist and sighs, sounding contented. He's wearing black, with a piercing in his nose and tattoos across his arms and collarbone. He grins. "We didn't do bad."

"Yeah, because we were worried you were going to do half-bad," Lynn says, raising an eyebrow.

"You think I did excellent." Uriah's teeth are white in blackness.

"Course I did," Lynn says, socking his arm.

Tobias goes to Zeke and says, "You did well."

"Don't say anything more to Uriah, or you'll just inflate his ego more. But thanks," Zeke says.

Everyone discusses about going out to get supper or something, but I know my parents want me home. Part of me wants to defy them and stay out late with my friends. The other part, the good, obedient part of me, wants to please them and go home. I'm conflicted when we all go to the cars and motorcycles.

"Do you want to go with them or go home?" Tobias asks me.

I sigh, realize my decision. "Can you take me home?"

Tobias nods, looks almost relieved to get out of going out with our friends. He says, "Guys, I'm taking Tris home."

There are words of protest.

"Come on, Tobias," Zeke says.

"See you guys later," Tobias says, and he hands me my helmet. It's sleek and smooth under my hands, wet with rain. I grab my jacket and feel chills running through my body. They only increase as I sit down and wrap my arms around Tobias, like he's a lifeline.

He is, though. He keeps me straight and alive as we weave through the rainy traffic, the hype and adrenaline of the concert still breathing alive in me. I almost fall asleep against him as the sensation fades to a gentle thrumming, and I can feel his heartbeat beneath all the layers between us. It's steady but fast.

We arrive at my house, which appears drizzled, like looking through a jaded glass window. Tobias parks the motorcycle with considerable ease, leaning it into its standing position. He turns to me, and whispers, "I got you back before eleven. That's got to count for something?"

"With my parents?" I ask, taking off my helmet. He takes his off, letting his hair get soaked in the falling rain.

He shrugs. "I know that they don't like me. Hell, I wouldn't trust me with my daughter. So anything to get in their good graces is always something to want to have in your pocket, eh, Tris?" He smiles a little, though tentatively. It's shaky, a little fearful. Like he knows that whatever he does won't ever get my parents to like him.

I reach up and cup his cheek in my hand. "Don't worry. My mom likes you. My dad can't contend with the both of us."

"I'll keep that in mind when I have a talk with him," Tobias says.

I frown. A talk with my father? About me, obviously. "When did this idea come to you?"

"Tonight," Tobias says. He leans closer to me, his nose touching mine. I can feel his breath. I close my eyes and feel his warm skin against me, wet with rain. "Because I realized that I can't stay without you, and he has to know that."

I suck in a breath, wondering how it is to breathe normally. I want to be calm, but I can't. "That sounds awfully mature of you."

"Thank you. I'll take that as a compliment," he says, and he kisses me slowly, his hand at the base of my neck, holding me gently against him.

When he leans away, he says, his eyes flickering to the house, "Do you think anyone's watching us?"

"Let them watch," I say decisively.

He kisses me once more and I say, "But I have to go inside." My parents are probably in bed; at least, my mom is. My dad may just wait up, wanting to see his little daughter returned, safe and sound. The dining room light is on. Caleb must still be at his college applications.

"Okay." I get off the motorcycle, and our hands slip out from holding each other. Our fingers linger against each other.

"See you soon?" I ask.

He nods. "You will." He puts his helmet back on, his head finally hidden away. He kicks up the kickstand, and I wrap my hands around my elbows after I wave him goodbye.

I go up onto the porch. His taillights disappear as I knock on the door. A minute or two passes, and I sigh softly. Then there's the sound of the door unlocking, and Caleb appears in the doorway. He's wearing a white T-shirt and blue pants. His hair is disheveled, unusual for him. He looks especially agitated.

"You're back," he says.

"I am," I say, entering. I shrug off and hang up my jacket. He closes the door. "Where are Mom and Dad?"

"They're sleeping. You didn't take an umbrella with you," he says.

I sigh. "I know, Caleb." I grab a towel from the linen closet after changing, and go to the kitchen to grab some protein. Caleb is drinking orange juice as I find leftover hamburgers, plain and unadorned. I take a huge bite and sigh in relief. I grab the ketchup bottle and spray the meat in the open fridge light.

I turn once I'm done, licking my fingers, to see Caleb. He's studying me, like he's studying a rat reacting to something in an experiment.

"What?" I ask.

"You're so different. You've changed . . . ever since you became friends with those people," Caleb says slowly.

"I've always been like this," I say, also slowly. I stop licking my fingers and deeply breathe. "But I've tried to be good. It's hard. I'm not selfless enough to be good."

"Being good is hard," Caleb says. "But not impossible." He looks at his hands and the floor. "Do you love him?" he asks.

This question is so unexpected from him. All I can do is stare at him. "What?"

"Tobias Eaton. Do you love him, or the lifestyle that he offers you?" Caleb asks, meeting my eyes. His eyes hold a spark of wonder, of confusion. He wants to know what has triggered me down this road.

I shouldn't have to tell my brother of my love life, and what my affections are. But it's late at night, just the two of us, the rain pouring down outside, and it seems like a good place to tell secrets. Reminds me of our old game: It was called Candor. Caleb found the word in his reading. We ask each other questions, which must be answered as honestly as possible. So now I say, "I love him. If I didn't ride a motorcycle and wear these clothes, I'd love him. Take that all away, and give me only him. Does that answer your question, Caleb?"

He nods, pondering my words. I turn and walk to the stairs. On a top step, he says, "Beatrice."

I turn. He looks so much younger at the bottom of the stairs. All this college stuff has taken so much out of him. "Tell Mom and Dad that. Maybe they'll listen." He nods and walks away, leaving me to realize that he is right. That in order for them to accept Tobias, my way of living, I simply have to tell them this. That is so much harder than it sounds.

But I realize it must be done.

So I will tell them. And maybe they'll listen. And maybe they won't.

But Tobias, my lifestyle; they're_ my_ choices. And they're my choices that I will live with.

**This fic ran away from me. **

**Thanks for reading!**


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